Page 10 of Marry Me Tomorrow
We work in companionable silence, setting the table and bringing out steaming platters of food. My dad greets me with a nod from his chair, newspaper folded neatly on the side. Dinner begins with an awkward silence I’ve come to expect over the past couple months. The only sounds are the soft clinks of forks on plates and the low hum of the ceiling fan.
I glance up from my plate and catch my parents exchanging one of those looks. My stomach tightens, knowing what’s coming next.
“Just say it.” I stab a piece of carrot with my fork. I chew mechanically, the roast suddenly losing its appeal.
“Well,” my mom starts cautiously, setting down her fork, “it’s just that your father and I have been talking . . .”
“And?” I say, trying not to snap.
My dad clears his throat, his deep voice filling the space. “Son, your grandfather called us earlier this week. It seems like there’s been some words exchanged with some of the extended family about the . . . stipulation in the contract for the marina.”
Ah, the clause. The one that’s been hanging over my head like an anvil. The words, etched in my memory, echo in my mind like a judge’s gavel.
The transfer of ownership of the marina to New Owner is contingent upon the New Owner being married at the time of the transfer. This condition is intended to preserve the family-oriented nature of the business. If the New Owner is not married at the time of the transfer, they shall forfeit their right to ownership of the marina, and the business shall instead be passed on to the next eligible married family member, as determined by the current owner or their estate.
My parents never owned the marina. They just ran it while my grandfather retained ownership rights. However, with my parents’ retirement and my grandfather not getting any younger, he is ready to pass over the ownership. Of course, since I grew up at the marina and have now managed it for a year and a half on my own, plus all the years of co-running it with my parents, my grandfather would like to transfer ownership to me.
With one catch: I have to be married first.
All of which seems ridiculous to me. What does being married have to do with running a marina? I’ve proven with my work over the years and with my degree how serious I am about owning and managing the marina and helping it grow and thrive. My relationship status shouldn’t have any impact in this. It’s frustrating to have this hanging over my head. How am I supposed to fall in love and get married when my life is all about the marina? It just doesn’t make sense.
“What do you mean, words were exchanged?” I ask.
My mom shifts uncomfortably. “Well, your Aunt Ida called to tell me her daughter is getting married in the fall and that she’d be happy to take over the marina if you . . . weren’t able to.”
“Aunt Ida didn’t . . .” The words die on my tongue, replaced by stunned disbelief.
“And she wasn’t the only one,” my dad adds. “We’ve had several calls this week. When your grandfather called to let us know the family has been expressing interest to him in taking over ownership also, we thought it best to let you know how serious this is getting.”
“The extended family,” my mom says, “is, well, you know . . .”
“Getting worried,” my dad continues. “My father isn’t going to be around for too many more years, and he and the rest of the family would like to get the ownership of the marina squared away before he does pass and it gets a lot messier.”
“We know how much the marina means to you, Trenton,” my mom says. “And we don’t want you to lose it.”
Dad cuts into his roast. “I don’t know how long my siblings are going to be okay with the marina sitting in limbo. You’ve done a wonderful job managing it, but someone needs to own it—and soon. Your mother and I have put our hearts and souls into this place, but we’re tired and ready to see it passed on to the next generation. However, my siblings wouldn’t be opposed to taking it over either. As you know, Aunt Ida and Uncle Bert grew up here. And they raised their kids here most summers too. They’re all familiar with the marina and would love to own it and perhaps manage it too.”
“But Grandfather,” my mom says, “agrees the marina is running smoother than it has in years with you managing it, and he wants to pass it on to you.”
“But you’re not married,” Dad says.
My appetite vanishes entirely as I slump back in my chair. “Why can’t Grandfather just remove the clause? Why do I have to choose between owning the marina and being married or letting some other family member own it and staying single? I’m not even sure I’m ready for a relationship yet.”
“You know,” my mom says gently, “he is determined to honor your grandmother’s memory. The marina was her pride and joy, and he wants to ensure it stays family-run.”
“I know,” I murmur, the weight of their words settling heavily on my shoulders. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like the clause. This marina is my home, my life. I don’t want to lose it.”
The next morning, I drag myself into the lodge, my head pounding from the restless night I’d spent replaying the conversation from Sunday dinner. The smell of coffee and pine greets me as I step into the back office, a small comfort amidst the chaos in my mind.
Jenny is at the front desk, her cheerful “Good morning!” bouncing through the space. I wave halfheartedly, too preoccupied to muster a reply.
Jenny has been nothing but a surprise. She picked up everything better than I could have ever imagined, and the last two and a half months have been a blur. Jenny has stepped into my life and put her stamp on everything. The regulars love her like she’s everyone’s granddaughter, not just Henry’s. I never would have thought that my favorite regular would have been Jenny’s family.
Henry has gone through so much with the loss of his wife and now losing his home. Not too long ago, I told Jenny, “It was so kind of you to put your dreams on hold to help your grandfather.”
“Well,” she said, wiping down the glass of a display case, “it was the least I could do, to be there for him. He gave up his retirement to help raise me after my parents left me on my grandparents’ doorstep and never looked back.”
“I had no idea he raised you,” I said. “I’m so sorry your parents did that to you.”
